Road Trip
by Time Traverser
Summary: England regretted tagging along in the first place after hour seven. This one-shot is not as lighthearted as it may first appear. Rated T because I like how the letter looks in this summary. As always, NO ROMANCE.
England watched the North American brothers disappear into the shady old gas station with a sour expression.

' _Come with us,'_ they said. _'It'll be fun,'_ they said.

They never said anything about the car running low on fuel in the middle of the bloody night somewhere in fucking…what was this, South Dakota? What was the difference between South Dakota and North Dakota, anyways? Why couldn't they just be one big Dakota?

He'd long ago decided to regret this little road trip. Because apparently the word _'little'_ , meant something different on this continent. They'd been driving for hours, and were still in the same state!

The night was clear, at least, if rather brisk and windy. All the better for him to see his miserable surroundings. Dead grass as far as the eye could see, a cracked interstate highway that had seen better days, and not much else. The place didn't even have cell phone reception.

Honestly, how long does it take to pay for petrol?

Leaning against the hood of the car, he looked around once again. Nothing, nothing, _nothing_ …

Then he frowned, squinting to get a better look down the road. A hitchhiker? He didn't recall seeing one earlier, and they'd just come from that way…

The mysterious figure grew closer, and closer, allowing England to discern a woman, wrapped in a woven blanket. Her face was dark, and pretty in a native sort of way. But she had almost no hair left, and walked with a hunched and limping gait. She looked distressed.

"Do you need help, Miss?" England inquired making his way to intercept her. "Are you in trouble?"

She stopped, head cocking sharply as though to regard him, much like a wild bird. Her breathing was labored.

"Miss-"

Her head turned a full one-eighty, revealing a terrible face of teeth and shadow. England's eyes locked with those awful yellow ones, causing him to go inexplicably and completely rigid in fear. Her rattling breath echoed hollowly in his ears. His limbs wouldn't even move when she allowed her blanket to drop away, showing her monstrous frame and wickedly razor sharp elbows that jutted oddly from her arms. They were stained and crusted with blood.

" _ENGLAND!"_

Someone pulled him away from the creature, dragging him towards the car. His fear-logged brain told him it was Canada. He looked afraid, too.

Something shrieked in anger behind him, inhuman and perverse. America's challenging cry was angry and primal, more like a roar. He was engaging it in combat.

England felt himself pushed into the backseat. Canada was talking to him in low, urgent tones.

"England, did she touch you? Can you hear me? I need you to tell me if she hurt you."

The island Nation managed to shake his head, however the rest of his body still wasn't fully cooperating with him. He tried to speak, to ask, but no sound came out.

Through the windshield, he could see America rip the thing's head from its neck, breathing heavily as it dissolved into sand that blew away on the wind. As though the horror had never existed. The only evidence that something had even happened was the splattered black blood that remained on the western Nation's hands and the asphalt.

America's expression was grim, coming off of the adrenaline. He flashed a tired thumbs-up to his brother in the car, before coming around to slide into the passenger seat.

No one spoke for a long time.

Eventually, England felt himself regaining control of his faculties. He swallowed, and asked, "What was that?"

" _Héstóvátóhke,"_ America answered quietly, foreign vowels passing his lips easily. "A Two-Face."

Canada played with the sleeve of his hoodie. "We didn't think…well, they were supposed to be _dead_. No one's seen one for hundreds of years."

"I'll gladly kill them all again," America muttered darkly, glaring at nothing in particular. "It tried to take someone else from me. As if I'd somehow forgotten the first time."

England felt out of his depth. He didn't like it. "Tell me."

The twins exchanged a significant look, a conversation without words. Then America folded his arms and stared sullenly out the window. Canada bit his lip and said, "That was the creature that killed our mother."

"Your mother?" England was surprised, to say the least. He wasn't even aware that they'd _had_ one. "Native America?" he guessed

"No," the northernmost brother shook his head, his tone solemn. "Her name was Vinland."

 _Vinland._ England vaguely recalled that name. A news tidbit he'd caught about ancient Viking settlements being discovered in North America. He mostly recalled Denmark being infuriatingly smug about having gotten to the New World first. "How? I can't imagine someone with so much Viking culture as a pushover."

" _Nanuq_ says that she was strong," Canada confirmed slowly, sparing a worried glance at his brother. "That she grew quickly, and fought well. But she was naïve. She didn't know about some of the… _things_ that inhabit this continent. It caught her by surprise much like it did you."

"Except we couldn't save her," America growled. "We were young, and scared. Unable to do anything even as we were torn from her arms and tossed aside to watch her get mutilated. Happened right before _Nanuq_ and _Manabohzo_ found us."

England didn't know what to say. So he didn't say anything at all. He wordlessly buckled up, trying to wrap his mind around this new information. It certainly explained a few things, but mostly just created more questions.

Canada took his brother's hand in his, comforting. America looked down at his lap, completely silent.

But now didn't seem like a good time to ask those questions.

* * *

 **Here's something I didn't expect to write, but insomnia can do straaaaaaaaange things to a person's muse. Now that I'm finished and writing this footnote, I realize that Vinland would've been little young to have children in most cases. Well, hahaha, I thus declare with my magical author powers that she was not. Will probably come up with a reason for this later, or it'll bother me forever.**

 **I've gotta say that North American myths and monsters, be they from the oral tradition of thousands of generations or urban legends from the open road, seem to be some of the most disturbing.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


End file.
